


Dragged Away

by Jinmukang



Series: Whumptober 2019 [6]
Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda (Video Game 1986)
Genre: Dragged away, Human Sacrifice, Whumptober 2019, or at least implied future human sacrifice, poor hyrule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2020-12-17 15:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21056570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinmukang/pseuds/Jinmukang
Summary: Hyrule is cornered in the forest by people who want something from him. Something that will kill him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Was gonna do with with Wild but then I remembered I've been wanting to write a fic like this in awhile. Might go more into it someday.

He’s running. Running faster than what he has in a very long time, yet he can’t seem to be able to catch up with his racing heart. His lungs, gasping, feel like they’re going to burst but he can’t stop. 

He can’t. 

Vines whip past his face, leaves, twigs, cutting his skin. Bristles and bushes try to grasp at his pants and boots, unaware that they’re slowing him down, letting _them _get closer. 

He has no idea who they are. Only that they’re from Wild’s era. Only that under the masks, through the talismans, the bows, the sickles, the _laughter _that they are human people, human people that for some impossible reason believe that it’s better for the world to fall to power than it is for it to rise to courage and wisdom. 

And that they _know_.

How they know?! _How do they know how do they know howdotheyknowhowdothet_-

A cry escapes his throat when an arrow whizzes past his ear, barely brushing through his hair and cutting the thin threads before _thunking _harshly into the bark of a nearby tree. Hyrule changes direction, skidding slightly on the leaves carpeting the forest ground, and takes off again. 

He thinks he’s heading back to camp. 

Please let him be heading back to camp. 

Laughter erupts behind him, so close he can almost feel their breath on the back of his neck, but he pushes forward, trying not to feel like a helpless rabbit attempting to run away from a pack of wolves. 

He zigzags through the trees, breathing hard, until he finally begins to recognize some of the trees around him in the pale moonlight. He pushes his legs harder even though his muscles feel like chu chu jelly. He can almost see the orange light of the campfire through the trees. Moving shadows, joyful voices, the smell of stew. Hyrule lifts his hands to his mouth, about to call out, when suddenly a _whooshing _noise reaches his ears and something heavy and tight lashes itself around his legs. 

His cry is cut short as he lurches forward, his legs tied together by ropes with metal balls attached to the end, but his body thinking it’s still moving. He lands harshly on the forest floor, his jaw smacking the ground and his hands scrubbing across dirt and twigs like sandpaper. His elbows are definitely bleeding, and so are his knees, and he barely even has time to scramble upwards and… he doesn’t know—call for help or get that damn rope off his legs—before hands fall onto his shoulders and a rough boot smashes into his gut. 

A hand wraps itself around his mouth, muffling his cry, as he’s winded and pinned down on his chest. His hands are wrenched back, course rope wrapped around his wrists so tightly tears pinprick his eyes. He tires to struggle, but he’s so out of breath and there’s too many of them, all snickering and laughing to themselves as he squirms. 

The hand leaves his face and he sucks in a breath, about to scream, but that one is cut off too as a cloth is shoved into his open mouth, and another tied around his lips and knotted at the back of his head. 

He’s helpless. He’s helpless. They’re right there and he’s _helpless _and they know and oh Hylia oh they know and he can’t do a _thing_!

“The blood moon should only be a week away,” a voice says above him, “we’ll spill his blood with it.”

Tears escape Hyrule’s eyes as his mind falls into a loop of _not again not again not again_ as his legs are grabbed and his whole body is dragged along after the appendages. The forest ground scraps against his stomach as his tunic rides up, and he tries to squirm and if not escape than at least get into a better position, but all he succeeds in doing is wiggling helplessly as he desperately tries to keep his face from being dragged along the rough terrain as well. 

They drag him. They drag him towards doom, towards prophecy. Towards sacrifice. 

“With your blood, our master will return.”

Tears escape his eyes as he’s dragged further away. Away from friends. Away from the _real _heroes. 

Towards his doom. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? A shocking chapter two to this? More likely than you think. I might continue more into this if I'm feeling like it. Until then, please enjoy <3

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is the cold seeping through his skin into his very core. The second thing is that his head is spinning even though he has yet to open his eyes. 

And honestly, he’d like to keep his eyes shut, but when he shifts in an attempt to get warmer, something clinks and tugs at his left wrist, and his eyes shoot open without a second thought as everything comes back to him.

The running. The fear. The _laughing_. He remembers begging through a gag. He remembers being dragged. He remembers being dragged for so long he was barely even conscious enough to register them sitting him up and hitting up aside the head with the back handle of a blade.

He sucks in a panicked breath of air, scrambling to his feet, but he’s yanked to a stop by something around his wrist, and he finds himself halfway bent staring down at his wrist and the metal cuff locked around it. There can’t be more than a couple feet’s length of chain connecting the cuff to a hook in the cold, stone floor below him. Not long enough for him to stand up properly, but enough for him to have some movement if he sits down.

A shiver wracks through his frame, his breath coming out in a short huff, and he realizes that he is still very, very cold even with the stomach dropping realization that he’s restrained. He quickly looks at the rest of himself, and his stomach drops further when he realizes he’s been truly stripped of all his belongings, nothing but his pair of trousers still rest on his body. His chest is bare, his feet are shoeless, his gauntlets and gloves are missing. 

A noise behind him forces him to look up in the bent over, awkward position he’s in, and face his surroundings. The room he finds himself in the center of is small, nothing but rough, carved stone meets his eyes. The only light that enters this prison cell—because it _must_ be a prison cell—comes through a single metal door centered in one of the walls. There’s a small, square opening hardly large enough to fit his head through with iron bars running up and down in it. It’s this opening that caught his attention, the thing that made a noise, and as his eyes land on the door he meets the gaze of a white, emotionless mask watching him through the window.

Hyrule’s heart jumps to his throat and he tries to scramble back as a bang of something unlocking meets his ears. The door begins to open and in walks familiar figures. 

And not familiar in a good way. 

He knows they’re enemies. He knows because sometimes one will pop up randomly while the group is traveling and Wild won’t hesitate to draw his sword and battle. He’s never went into detail about them, saying they’re no more powerful than a red bokoblin. They’re just confused traitors to the throne, cocky dimwits who they needn’t worry about. 

Well, Hyrule is worrying. 

They don’t look like people, even though Wild has mentioned at some point or another that they are. They look like imps, mischievous creatures with long, spindly, red limbs and pure white masks with a single eye drawn on to hide whatever hideous face they have beneath. It’s almost impossible to imagine any person to be his enemy. He comes from a time where things are so bad that people are forced to unite together and monsters are the only true evil.

He wonders what happened to these people in Wild’s era to make them so… malicious.

The chain hardly allows him to take a single step back as the ill willed group shuffles into the cell. There’s five of them, all of them lean and muscular, each with a sword, bow, or scythe equipped. They’re chuckling to themselves, like they’ve already won, and something red fills the corners of Hyrule’s vision. So much so, that he doesn’t hesitate to lash out when one gets to close. He punches with his free hand, though with the awkward angle his body is bent at and the numbness in his limbs from being so cold for so long, the attack doesn’t even phase his target.

His punch misses, and immediately he’s breathless as he finds his legs kicked from below him, knocking him down roughly onto his back. He tries to suck in a breath of air, but a hand wraps itself in his hair and drags him painfully to his knees. The hand stays in his hair, forcing his head down, and it’s all Hyrule can do to lift his own hands and grasp at the offending one tugging at his locks.

“It’s a wonder that you’re so special,” a voice says above him. Hyrule can’t find his voice to speak back, so he clamps his jaw shut and closes his eyes, knowing he is completely powerless. “Look at you, healing like a loyal dog. Heroes aren’t made like they used to be.”

The hand tightens in his hair and Hyrule tries to pry the fingers away, but his wrists are grabbed and tugged away from his head by another pair of hands. He tries to struggle, he really, truly tries to, but something even colder than the stone cell wraps around his neck, a curved blade perfect for slitting throats; he pathetically stills.

“I don’t know what makes you so special,” the voice above him says, and Hyrule almost agrees. He’s not special. He’s really not. He hardly deserves the title of Hero. The name Link. He hardly deserves to share the spirit of such great boys and men. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter. We were informed that if we spill your blood under the light of a red moon, Calamity Ganon will rise again.”

Finally, the hand is removed from his hair, but almost immediately his chin is grasped and Hyrule’s head is forced to look up. His eyes open in fear. He’s face to face with the mask, ever so more intimidating up close. 

His captor doesn’t say anything now. Just tilts Hyrule’s face back and forth like he’s looking for something, and a disappointed sigh reaches Hyrule’s ears just before his face and hands are released. The sickle leaves his neck and Hyrule is left kneeling, his hands falling to the stone ground and splaying to keep him upright as he gasps. His heart feels like war drum, though war is a bit too brave for him.

“Look at you,” the leader says, a sneer in his voice, “pathetic. You’re nothing like the hero from our time. To think, the one who’s blood we need to pull this off is also the weakest. No matter, our observers predict the blood moon to arrive in six days, it’s just a shame you haven’t put up much of a fight.”

Hyrule squeezes his fists, staring at the back of his hands. His useless hands. His eyes drift to the left one, not because of the chain but because of the uninterrupted skin there. The Triforce is in him. One of his deepest secrets, one he won’t even tell the others, but for now it lays dormant. Useless to him now. He has no control over it, and if it wanted to be seen, if it wanted to help him, it would show itself there.

He’s completely alone. 

Once again, he’s reduced to a thing to be sacrificed. A thing to be slaughtered, and this time, he can’t help but feel like there’s nothing he can do about it. 

He hardly even notices that his captors left the cell, and he’s only made aware of it when the sound of the metal door clanging shut followed by a locking click meets his ears. His body trembles, and he’s not sure if it’s from the cold or the creeping despair sinking its fangs into his jugular. 

He crumples down, curling up as much as the chain will allow, and wonders if the others have even noticed he’s missing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @liccy, sliding into my dms, giving me a list of prompts with the demand I wrote more Dragged Away like some sort of mad lad. Liccy, I love you so much, I hope this is proof of that lmao. I actually sort of forgot about Dragged Away again, but every time I remember it I am reminded of all the deliciously sinister plans I've made for it. This is longer than a drabble, because a continuation for Dragged Away requires it. I'll add a keep reading later. Enjoy liccy ya sly funky artist you. 💕
> 
> 89) “Why hasn’t anyone looked for me yet?” “Because they don’t care about you like I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or basically, I'm a weak soul and when asked to make a continuation to a fic from someone I love and admire, I immediately cave. Enjoy a random chapter three!

Hyrule doesn't know how long he stays like that. Laying there. Pathetically. Curled up as much as the chain and shackle will allow, wallowing in his fear and misery. Shivering in the cold of the cell.

He hoped not for too long, but his frightened mind doesn't always allow him to keep a perfect track of time. Eventually, he does manage to remember that his brain is connected to a body. With a deep breath that's come from years of practice, he calms his heart down and forces his legs to move.

He's vulnerable laying down like this. He needs to not be so vulnerable.

He breathes. And breathes. Connecting strings in his mind that he hasn't thought he needed anymore. He thought he was done with all this blood sacrificing nonsense. Last time it was horrifying, but he survived it. He lived. Shoved it under the rug like the trauma was nothing more than dust and tried to move on.

And he's back to this again.

He cannot be vulnerable. He has to be calm. It doesn't bother him.

He's not scared at all.

He eventually finds himself sitting on his hind end, knees drawn up slightly. He wishes he could stand up, but the clinking of his short chain reminds him of how easily he was defeated last time he was standing as much as the chain allowed. It will do him nothing to stand up, hunched over like some weathered old laborer. At least, from sitting in this position, he can kick.

Shivers wrack his frame and he glares down at the stone floor below him. Six days. Six days and whatever this blood moon is will come and they will use his blood to bring back Calamity Ganon. A monster... alike to Hyrule's own version of Ganon. Hyrule doesn't want to be the cause of any version of Ganon returning to life. He'd much rather die, in fact.

And it's just... It's shitty that dying is the issue here!

He sits there, ignoring the hardness of the ground on his tailbone, and hopes the others are coming.

And quickly.

-o-o-o-o-

Hours must pass.

He's not sure, especially since the only contact to the outside world he has from his little radius in the middle of the floor is the bars in the prison cell door. But they don't lead outside. All he can see from here is brick, sandstone wall and the flickering of a torch. There's no window here. No sunlight. No way to be sure.

But, regardless, hours must pass before something changes.

It's when he's finally been forced to shift so he's cross legged on the ground in an attempt to relieve some pressure on his tailbone that shadows cross outside the door's window. Quickly, Hyrule untangles his legs and glares at the door as it opens with a heavy sliding of metal.

The figure that walks in is just like the rest. It's impossible to tell them apart, but maybe that's not so bad. It's impossible to tell apart normal monsters. Maybe, if these whackos all look alike, that lingering worry that they're human won't bug him so much. The soldier is carrying a tray with some sort of mush in it, and they set it down on the ground just out of Hyrule's reach before straightening and bouncing slightly on the balls of their feet.

"Well?" The monster with a human voice asks.

And Hyrule realizes that they won't bring the food any closer. Hyrule glares, tempted to argue that he's not hungry because for all he knows it could be poisoned or laced with something... But his stomach growls and he thinks that if they wanted to poison him, they could easily do so without having to drug his food. Besides, he should save his strength.

With as much dignity as he can muster, he scoots over as far as his chain will allow and uses the heel of his foot to catch onto the edge of the tray, watching the (Yuta? Yaiba? Gah whatever) solder wearily. They don't make a move to attack him when he's stretched out vulnerable like this. He quickly curls back anyways, dragging the tray with him and glaring the entire time.

"I don't have all day," the soldier says as Hyrule stares down at the mush wearily. He sighs and dips two fingers into the thick mixture, wincing slightly at the texture, and brings out a scoop. He takes a deep breath and... it's not that bad actually. The texture is just as icky as he thought, but the taste is banana. Kind of pleasant, mushy weirdness aside. Better than what he was expecting.

He quickly eats the rest of the banana mixture, licking his fingers and slowly placing the bowl back into the tray when he's all done. When the soldier tilts his head and taps his foot, Hyrule sighs and kicks the tray out so it's out of his range. The soldier beds down, picks up the tray, gives a mock solute, and then walks out of the cell with all the swagger and confidence of a rich moblin in a cave.

The cell door closes and Hyrule scoffs, curling slightly and licking between his gums and cheek to get the rest of the flavor stuck back by his molars.

Any minute now guys. A rescue soon would be great.

-o-o-o-o-

More hours pass, and Hyrule cannot for the life of him figure out how much passes exactly. He busies himself picking at the shackle, then the chain, then the plate of metal in the ground that the chain is connected to. There's no imperfections. No wiggle room. His wrist feels a little rubbed now, and the corners of the metal itches. His tailbone hates him. Sleep is tugging down his eyelids but the constant anxiety in his chest making it impossible to even flirt with the idea. He looks at the back of his hand where the Triforce should be and he wonders if it's left him without letting him know first. Not that it matters, he's always known he was unworthy. He's done more harm than good it feels in his time. He killed Ganon but the world fell further apart anyway.

He sighs and picks at the shackle again.

-o-o-o-o-

They bring more banana mush just as hunger is beginning to tug at his stomach again. They don't talk and Hyrule doesn't talk to them. The only difference between this time and the last is that this soldier doesn't force him to lower himself by tugging on the chain like a dog to get the food. They, instead, walk right up and drop it, causing some of the mixture to splash out. Hyrule remains stubbornly silent as he eats what's left in the bowl, and instead of handing the bowl back like the soldier must be expecting, he hurls the bowl past them and out the cell door.

The soldier smacks him across the head, not painfully so but in a way that shows their annoyance, before they pick up the tray and practically stalk out with steam rising from their shoulders. The door clicks shut and Hyrule tries not to let himself panic at the grumbling words he hears as they walk out.

"We'll see about him getting any food tomorrow."

-o-o-o-o-

Hyrule's bored and hungry. Enough so that he hardly even noticed that he passed out until he was blinking awake on his side. He slowly and cautiously rises so he's sitting again, wincing as his spine protests and his wrist twinges. His stomach growls and all he can do is sit there and trail his finger in the dust of the stone until something happens.

Nothing does. He's beginning to think the threat was real, and if today is a new day he won't be getting any food during it.

-o-o-o-o-

"Why hasn't anyone looked for me yet," Hyrule whispers to himself, staring at the picture he's spent quite a long time drawing out in the dust. It's all messy lines, but the face does look vaguely like Legend. He misses Legend.

"Because they don't care about you like I do," a familiar voice says. Hyrule's breath catches and he looks up with wide eyes before he can stop himself. Standing outside the window of the cell door is the same old white mask, but the voice... the voice he knows. It's the same one who came to him before and forced him to kneel while he called Hyrule pathetic and weak. He'll never forget that voice.

Hyrule forces up something that feels fake but looks like courage and glares at the enemy. The man just snickers and opens the cell door, holding a tray with a bowl. Hyrule's stomach growls against his will and Hyrule's sure by the way the soldiers wiggles his shoulders ever so slightly, he's smirking under that mask.

"Hope you're hungry," he says. Then, with a cruel voice, "because I don't actually have anything."

The tray and bowl clatters to the ground and nothing splatters out. Hyrule curls his hands into fists.

"They'll come," he says, that fake-but-feels-like-courage in his voice.

The soldier scoffs and kicks the bowl to the side. "They would have by now if they cared. That damn hero knows where this place is, and our patrols haven't seen anyone yet. Perhaps they're just caught up?"

Hyrule snarls and goes to stand up, forgetting about the short chain until he's stopped short. "They'll come," he repeats, not allowing the words of the enemy to affect him. "And you care for nothing."

"Oh, but I do care for you, you little mouse," the soldier says, folding his arms. "You're useful to me. But to them? You've just proven yourself that you can't protect yourself long enough to not get captured from cult fanatics. They don't care about you. I'm the only one who will be caring about you until the Blood Moon rises once again and our master returns."

"It's not real. My blood won't bring anything back," Hyrule bluffs, hoping it's convincing. "Whoever told you are lying."

"Eh, either way, in four days you'll be dead," the soldier says, shrugging. "So it doesn't really matter, am I right?"

Hyrule doesn't indulge him with an answer.

"My point exactly. Now," he claps his hands together, "look, as much as you think we're cruel, we actually want to make sure you're not half dead already from starvation and thirst when your heroic sacrifice comes around. We gotta make sure your blood will be nice and healthy when we spill it, so you gotta work with us, kid."

Hyrule feels something in his face twitch. Anger curling in his gut right next to the anxiety.

"We can get some steak in here even, if ya want, all you gotta do is apologise."

"For what," Hyrule grinds out.

"For throwing the bowl, silly!"

"Fuck you."

Perhaps the bravest and stupidest thing Hyrule's said in the past two days—Hylia, has it really been 48 hours?

But for all his (fake) bravery, the soldier just shrugs. "Alright, we'll talk tomorrow."

He then turns away and walks out the cell, leaving Hyrule to slowly sit back down and lower his head into his hands. Alone to do nothing but ignore his pulsing tailbone and smarting wrist.

Alone to sit and fight off terrified tears.


End file.
